


Gently

by Romanec



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Tony, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub, Protective Bruce, Sexual Content, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanec/pseuds/Romanec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce will always be careful with Toni. And he'll teach her to be careful with herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gently

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cherished](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108037) by [CrumblingAsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh). 
  * Inspired by [Cherished](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108037) by [CrumblingAsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrumblingAsh/pseuds/CrumblingAsh). 



“This is so fucking stupid.”

Bruce only bites back a smile at the grumble the woman beside him rolls out from her lips. He feels such an overwhelming surge of fondness at the sight of the scowl that furrows her brows as she levels It at the pillows he’s positioned carefully on the rug, warmth blooming painfully in the center of his chest at the sight of the light blush on her cheeks he knows she’ll deny if acknowledged. Toni Stark is all temper and fire, burning bright despite the darkness of her hair and eyes, the beaming electric glow of the reactor in her chest a baptizing light that encompasses whatever it points at (he both relishes and agonizes the moments she turns its brightness onto him). He doesn’t believe in perfection, his life nothing but variables and theories born to be proven false, but sometimes, looking at her, he thinks there might be another level of something he’s not considered before.

“It’s actually a common practice,” he argues lightly. She tosses him a look that repeats in expression her opinion of this whole idea.

“This is what dogs do, Bruce. I’m not a dog.”

He shakes his head with a startled, breathy chuckle. “First, please don’t ever use the analogy of dogs with sex to me ever, ever again. Second. This is okay. I promise. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.” Her gaze darts to the pillows again, and then back to him – the very top of her bottom lip sucks into her mouth, worried between her teeth before she offers a sly, coy smile he knows all too well.

“I could just do this on you,” she points out, trying a different tactic. “You can’t deny you’d enjoy it, big guy. Me rubbing against you, no underwear, just me, wet against your pants, hard enough to feel it. _Using you_ -.”

“Toni,” he chides, voice soft, cutting her off before she can edge further into whatever fantasy she’s trying to build. She’s got a mouth on her that drives him crazy in overpowering ways, a tongue she knows how to use in more than physical methods, manipulation skills she’s perfected throughout her life. Her lips snaps closed, her voice silent, but her eyes remain smoldering as she pushes out a pout that makes him laugh and shake his head again. “We can do that later,” he promises. “But tonight, this is about you, and only you.” Her eyebrow arches.

“Nothing in it for Dr. Banner?” She challenges, and he mirrors her expression.

 _Nothing you can understand,_ he wants to say, but instead nods towards the pillows and ignores her question. “Go.”

She huffs again, because she’s Toni, but she does as he says, and he can see the minute shiver that dances through her body as she pulls away from him.

The room is his, dimly lit under the warm orange glow of the table lamps that remind him of nights in India – it bathes her naked form like a blanket, and it never fails to astound him how different she looks under his lights than the glaring artificial beams of her workshop or his lab, surrounded by carpets and cushions instead of tile and metal, the warmth of heat instead of the waking pulse of air conditioner. He follows her slowly, drinking up the sight of her so out of place yet so in it, until he is directly behind her, her shaky breaths the only sound he hears. (It hurts him more than any transformation, how scared she is of things like this. That she aches with fear instead of anticipation, uncertain here, of all places). He cups her elbows in his hands, slowly dragging them up, then down, then up again and he drops a kiss, another, then another against her shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he promises. “I’ll be right here the whole time, Toni. You just follow what I say, alright?” Another kiss against her ear. “Trust me.”

“Of course I fucking trust you,” she snaps out without any real bite. “Just, whatever, let’s do it already.” And he forces down another grin as he pushes her closer to the pillows.

“Straddle them,” he orders, keeps his hands against her arms as she hesitates hard for a moment before obeying, slipping from his grasp as she falls, so carefully, against the pillows. Only then, when she’s settled and (so fucking tensely) waiting, does he step around until he’s in front of her, the dark chocolate of her eyes following his every move as if convinced he’ll step away, leave her. The fabric of his pants shuffles noisily as he slowly lowers himself to her level, the sleeves of his button-up straining against the movement before flowing into place as he folds his legs casually beneath himself. He’s inches from the pillows, from her, but he doesn’t touch, lets one hand rest against his knee as the other reaches to the side to grab the bottle of water he left waiting, keeps his eyes with Toni’s the whole time, the uncertainty rampant and its defensive anger clear.

(He wants nothing more than to pull her against him, soothe her until she’s snarky but compliant, take her to bed and make love to her as slowly as it takes to make her shake apart) but he can’t if this is going to work.

“When you do this, I need you to listen to me,” he repeats slowly, firmly. “You’re going to go slow. I don’t care how much you want to rush, how fast you think you need it, you’re going to go slow. And when I say stop, you will.” She frowns again, opens her mouth to protest before thinking better of it. “The point is slowness, Toni, to build it up.” He smirks, leaning closer, still too far away to touch. “If I wanted you to go fast, I’d let you touch yourself, rub your clit that hard way you like, the one that leaves you sore and bruised and hot and soaking wet at the end of the night.”

“ _Bruce_.” Her pupils dilate at his words, and she moves forward, whether or her own volition or subconscious, drawn in by the dirty descriptions he knows she loves. He pulls back teasingly, smirking wider as she groans before it fades completely.

“But we’re doing this. You’re so hard on yourself. In bed, out of it. Like you don’t deserve gentle, like you’re not worth the time.” He bites his own lip and goes for it. “You’re taking that time tonight, Toni. You’re going to rub yourself against those pillows until you can’t stop yourself, until you have no choice but to cum. Some people use a lotion bottle under the pillow, or something equally hard, but you’re not going to – they’re going to be enough by themselves, aren’t they? You’re going to go slow, take your time, and it’s going to feel so good. You want to feel good, don’t you?”

The room is hot, the air is hot -- there’s already a shimmer of sweat against her skin, her chest already beginning to heave.

“Bruce,” she says again, and while her eyes are still wide, still falling under the filth of his words, the uncertainty breaks through in little cracks of his name that wrenches his heart. But she’s staring _at him_ , looking _to him_ in desperation when she could just be walking away.

“Trust me, Toni,” he quietly implores again. “This will make you feel so good. I promise. Trust me.”

Slowly, so fucking slowly, she nods, and so does he.

 _Do it, Banner._ He pulls back a little more.

“Move, Toni,” he commands.

She does.

The first time he had ever witnessed a woman pleasuring herself on a pillow, he had accidentally walked in on Betty and hadn’t been able to walk out. The sight of her long, pale body arching as she grinded against the deep sea of purple pillows on her bed, the way her fingers had clutched that same shade of purple in her sheets as she had chased after an impending orgasm she had fought to reach on her own. She had used a bottle, had wanted the extra forceful friction, and he never had a problem remembering the dark splash of wetness against the pillow cover when she finally flew, falling away and onto the bed in exhilaration. It had been exotic, inspiring to watch.

But now, here, Toni is different. Her moves are so timid, so mistrustful as she only lightly grazes the green sheets of his own pillows, keeping upright as if scared to touch it. He hears the little hitches of her breath every other drag, knows she’s feeling something, knows she’s scared to do it again.

“Brace your hands against the floor,” he softly instructs. Her eyes snap to him, startled, cautious, but he shakes his head. “Do it, Toni.” _Just fucking trust me._

She slowly does as he says, the movement spreading her legs further as her fingers splay across the softness of the rug. She doesn’t wait for his order to move again – she’s not stupid and redundancy is a peeve of hers – has to push her hips lower to gain any sort of contact at all. He sees the second she hits it, the way her eyes jump wide in surprise as she rubs in just the right way, before her head drops down under the sheer wave of it and she does it again.

 _There,_ he thinks triumphantly as she swivels her hips. _Just like that. Exactly like that._

The room is getting warmer, adding yet more sweat to her skin He watches as her fingers clench, clutching strands of the rug between them, the bend of arms as she rocks back, then forward, brushing her clit in a way that forces small, keening whimpers from her mouth, so faint he wouldn’t have been to hear them if hadn’t been listening. But he is, his attention focused solely on her, the way her muscles move, her breathing.

It’s good for her. She likes this. It’s working without pain, without force, and he can tell from the wine her spine arches, the way her head shakes every other noise, that Toni is surprised by how much she likes it, that she’s still moving, still wanting more.

Bruce is so entranced that he doesn’t say anything when she starts to rock faster, to grind down harder until there’s a little hop in her movements, her thighs shaking under the effort, her whimpers becoming desperate. Pillows though they are, there are three on top of each other, and there is only so much give of softness before they become hard enough to provide what she needs. And he watches as Toni chases it like she chases coffee in the morning and equations any time after, gunning for it without regard of the consequences, just knowing that she wants whatever it’s going to give.

Her head tilts up just barely at a downward push, shoulder-length tangle of hair flopping back, lip heavy between her teeth, white – she’s close. But he sees the lines in the center of her forehead, a crinkle he knows as her breaths become gasps of force. _Damn it._

“ **Stop**.”

His voice cuts across the quiet of the room that she does out of the pure shock of it, her head flying up as her lower body falls against the pillows hard enough to make her flinch as the contact. Her chest is heaving, breasts bouncing harshly, still pulling wheezing, burning noises from her throat. She looks almost pained.

“What?” Her voice is small but definitely a whine as she slowly falls away from the high she was reaching. “What’d I do?” She’s confused, and it won’t be long before she’s back to being snappy. He smiles gently, making sure there’s not a sliver of disapproval on his face.

“Shhh, nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assures. He brings the water bottle forward, unscrewing the cap, holding it out. “Drink some.” The disbelief is back on her face even as she takes the bottle, as if certain he’s insane for thinking that she needs it, but the second it’s against her lips she’s guzzling it, sucking down mouthfuls like she hasn’t had a drink in days. “Take a minute,” he instructs, still soft. “Catch your breath.” He watches the glimmer of the arc reactor as it moves with her chest, the blue glow against her wet breasts, before bringing his eyes back to hers, offering a small smile. “Slow, remember.”

Toni blinks at him, “I fucking hate you so much right now,” and gulps down more water.

Despite it, he waits until she finishes the bottle and tosses it aside in usual carelessness, until her breaths aren’t punching out like her lungs are incinerating inside her chest. Waits until her body unwinds just slightly enough to relax against the pillows again, her fingers slowly caressing the strands of the rug as her hips begin to twitch in impatience that chases away his worry to fond amusement at how still Toni Stark just _cannot be_.

“We’re going to move you a bit,” he says lowly after a moment, eyeing the pillows critically. “Shift back, pull the bottom pillow forward a little.” Toni does so; there’s a spark of eagerness in her eyes as she moves that makes him heady. The pillows are now a slope, sinking down toward the back, still high enough to give pressure, but low enough that the effort the billionaire clearly wants to apply won’t be necessary. He gives her another smile. “It’s going to be different, but I think that you can figure it out. Why don’t you go ahead and try moving again? _Slowly_ ,” he adds.

 _‘Fuck you,’_ her eyes seem to say as they roll, but her hips are already moving.

The first drag down elicits a sharp, surprised squeak, and Bruce grins, unable to stop himself from encouragement. “There you go. There. Keep doing that.”

She’s fucking beautiful. Like this, Betty had been serene, unreal, but Toni is a burst of sun that doesn’t burn to the touch. Head bowed, arms straining, her entire body traveling the length of the pillow that arches against her in the position they’ve made. Her breasts hugs its plump form, dragging across the cotton lightly in an movement she keeps repeating. He can see the slight trail of wetness left behind in the path she makes, knows there’s a bigger spot at the bottom that he can’t see. But it’s the noises leaving her that make his breath catch – whimpers like before, but without the screech, the sense that she can’t breathe but doesn’t care. They’re nothing but pleasure, shocked yearning noises, and while after a few second she’s not moving slow, she’s not matching her furious pace of before. She tilts her head up again, dark eyes almost black and unfocused as she continues to rock.

“Bruce.” She sounds a little lost, like she does the times that he holds her after, when she can’t keep her mouth shut and has no filter. “Bruce.”

“I’m right here, Toni.” _As if I would ever be anywhere else. As if I fucking could._

“Talk to me,” she begs. She still sounds so lost. “P-please. Talk to me.”

He shouldn’t. This is about Toni. This is about showing her how she can get what she wants without pain, without force or speed or inconsideration. On her own. But her body is shaking, whether from exertion or pleasure he can’t really tell anymore, her eyes still focusing on him, and he can’t deny how badly he wants to be with her in this, can’t look in her eyes right now and tell her no. His fingers tighten painfully in the folds of the knees of his pants.

“Talk to you?” He asks, his voice nothing but a breath. “And tell you what? How gorgeous you look right now, how perfect, strewn out in pleasure without a sign of pain on your face? Do you know how bad I’ve wanted this for you, Toni? To see you like this?”

She groans, head bowing again as she gives a particularly long rock. “Just like that,” he says, because _fuck._ “Doesn’t it feel good? Building it up, no hurry. No pain. Just you, taking what you need. Letting yourself have it.” She’s keening again. Her feet begin to move against the floor, sucking in the sensation of the rug against their sensitive skin, multiple stimulations pulling her down further. “There you go. There it is. Look at me, Toni. Let me see you, please.”

She does, tossing her head up with a desperate gasp as her body moves back just a little further. Her eyes lock with his, going impossibly as the edge of pillow brushes back and forth and against her clit as she unconsciously starts to move faster.

“Don’t make me stop, Bruce, don’t make me stop don’t make me stop _don’t make me stop don’t make me stop-.”_

“I won’t,” he whispers; she probably can’t hear him, “Shhh, shhh. You don’t have to stop. Do it Toni. Take what you want; cum. Come on, sweetheart. _Don’t_ stop. Cum.”

She lets go with a high-pitched whine that forces its way from her body like a wave washing over her with enough strength to make her eyes roll back and clench shut. Her hips twitch violently against the pillow, riding out her orgasm automatically, unable to stop moving. It drags another whine, and then another, and he can’t breathe as he watches her back arch inward before she finally collapses against the pillows, trembling in overload and twitching under the strength of the huffs of breath leaving her body as she struggles to catch up to whatever the hell just happened, not wanting to.

Finally, Bruce touches her, gently running his hand across her back, over the wet flesh and faint scars, and though he knows she must be exhausted she pushes into the touch as if she will always need more. She shakes under him and he doesn’t stop.

 _Told you you could do it,_ he doesn’t say.

When Toni is calmed enough to move more than an inch without falling back under the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, they move. Her helps her to her feet and bears her weight the twelve feet and four inches it takes to get to his bedroom, lowers her to the bed with a care that would make her scoff in annoyance if she was thinking clearly. Part of him still wants to get a cloth to clean her, to get water to hydrate and settle her, but the forty-five days that they have spent as lovers has taught him that, even now, some part of her still expects him leave after all the physical pleasure is done. So he tumbles down after her, smothering his grin into her neck as she snuggles immediately into him with a barely-restrained grin of her own, pulling him in for the kiss they haven’t yet had.

“Hey,” she laughs against his lips as he slips his fingers between her foldes, lightly caressing her. She jerks lightly against him, still sensitive.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” He laughs back, tracing her tip with a feather-touch that makes her bite her lip. “Not sore, no bruising. Still satisfied.”

“Smug bastard,” she grouches, legs spreading a little. “Cocky motherfucker only looks good on _me_ , Dr. Banner. So you can just stop that right now – not _that.”_ She tightens her thighs against his hand, trapping him as he tries to pull away. “Keep doing that.”

“Insatiable,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against hers again as he returns his fingers to her clit, thumb rubbing slowly against the side that makes her moan.

“And proud.” She squirms a little, whimpering again. “N-next time, though. Next time you hump the pillows. Wanna see you like that _fuck_.”

He presses a kiss against her ear, keeps his movements slow but filling. “We’ll see.”

“I… liked it.” And because that’s too deep for Toni Stark, she backs of quickly with a laugh. “I’m so ordering more pillows. Those really firm, puffy ones. And lots of covers, all green. Definitely green.”

He kisses her to shut her up, pinches her clit and rubs until once more all she can do is keen endlessly at the pleasurable burn.

Later, after Toni’s cum a second time and he’s convinced her that no, he doesn’t need her to return the favor, this has been more than enough, she sleeps bonelessly next to him, tucked as close to his side as she can get, the faintest hues of the reactor barely visible between them, but warm, his arm wrapped possessively around her. He knows that this hasn’t fixed anything, knows that not tomorrow, but maybe the night after, and definitely the night after that, she’ll be back to wanting hard and empty, will sometimes look at him as if he’s an equation she’s not sure how to solve and it will irritate the hell out of her until they’re back here, her nerves shot and unknowingly relying on him to show her how different it can be. He knows at least one person has hurt her like this in the past, not given her the choice or let her see how good it could be for her, too. If he dwells on it too long, it makes the Hulk rage in his mind, the idea of _Toni fucking Stark_ so vulnerable, burns him that she is so timid with intimacy, that she hadn’t even known the alternate ways of masturbation that didn’t involve heavy stimulation and the need to _be done quickly._

He wants a face, a name, and only when she smiles and laughs and relaxes around him is he glad he doesn’t have one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Bruce being gentle with Tony, not letting him rush into anything that could hurt, making him appreciate himself, being _protective_ and caring, just ... **unf**. Male or female, whatever. After reading "Cherished" I couldn't help but imagine all the ways Bruce would be soft and protective with Toni, especially with sex. 
> 
> I had to choose between this scenario and one where Bruce either confronted Steve for being an ass or Tiberius (which would end violently. Because Tiberius needs to be violent...ed. By a protective Bruce), but this one just won out, because if all Toni has known with sex is force and quick satisfaction, she probably wouldn't have tried other ways to satisfy herself that took too long or had too much effort.
> 
> And yes. ^______^ this is my first post in the MCU fandom though I read loads of it. o3o So, uh, hope it doesn't suck. :D


End file.
